


Broken Men with Broken Dreams

by BlackRavenDreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Crying, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, Near Death Experiences, One Shot, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Sad, Sectumsempra Scene | Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's Duel in the Bathroom, Serious Injuries, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRavenDreams/pseuds/BlackRavenDreams
Summary: A small, really sad fic I wrote after writing "After the War," mostly because I felt like writing more like it. Draco's side to the scene where Harry finds him crying in Myrtle's bathroom.
Kudos: 29





	Broken Men with Broken Dreams

* * *

_I paced around for hours on empty  
_ _I jumped at the slightest of sounds  
_ _And I couldn't stand the person inside me  
_ _I turned all the mirrors around"_

_Halsey, "Control"_

* * *

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe...Goddamnit...Breathe..._

Draco clutched the edge of the sink to steady himself. His breath shuddered, sounding like waves crashing in his head. Flashes of heat rushed through him as he felt himself suffocate.

It was hot. Far too hot. He yanked his tie and sweater vest off. He looked into the cracked mirror and saw the broken-up reflection of someone he could barely recognize. It was the reflection of a monster, a broken man, and a ghost. The face of the teen who hexed Katie Bell and gave her a cursed necklace, almost causing her death. The face of the teen who had Rosmerta poison a bottle of mead, which ended up poisoning the youngest Weasley boy. It was not the face of a Malfoy heir, the intelligent and cunning Slytherin Prince that was supposed to have it all. He flinched and looked down into the sink instead. It seemed incredible that nobody suspected anything when he looked like he had risen from the dead. And what was it all for? A snake-faced wizard his father supported?

It was hopeless. Everything was so, so hopeless. Despite all of his efforts over the last few months, he knew he was going to die. Voldemort would kill him, and then his parents. Hot, wet tears slid down his cheeks and into the grimy basin below.

The ghost of a meek-looking girl with round glasses suddenly appeared. Myrtle was trying to tell him something, but it was drowned out by the crashing in his head; all he could make out were the last two words: "help you."

_Help him?_ Myrtle wanted to help him? "No one can help me. I can't do it...I can't...It won't work...and unless I do it soon…" He hated how weak and broken his voice sounded. He was drowning and there was nobody there to save him, nobody that _could_ save him. The waves kept crashing and were joined by the jarring sound of his sobs, hurting his ears.

He gasped, gulped, and looked up into the mirror again. In it, he saw something calculated to make him more miserable: Harry Potter had entered the bathroom, looking shocked to see him crying. Harry Potter, who had always bested him. Harry Potter, whose shenanigans at the ministry had caused his father to be sent to Azkaban. Harry Potter, who became even more popular after the fiasco while he, Draco, was so alone. And now Potter knew that he often cried in Myrtle's bathroom.

Despair turned into irritation. Before he knew what he was doing, he had drawn his wand and sent a hex in Potter's direction. Potter retaliated, sending a spell in his direction. They began to duel. Myrtle was frantically flying around and shouting something, but he could not hear a single word. Irritation turned into anger. His head moments cleared. His face contorted with concentration and rage. A spell popped into his head, one that his aunt and Voldemort used regularly. "Cruc-" But before he could finish the incantation, Potter yelled, "Sectumsempra!"

The next thing he remembered was overwhelming pain; it felt as if he had been slashed in the face and chest with a sword. For a moment, he thought that Potter had used the Cruciatus curse on him, but that would not fit what he had heard nor would it explain the blood that was flowing around him like a scarlet river. His blood.

His body started shuddering at this realization, and the crashing started again. He was dying, he knew. He had always thought that Voldemort would be the one to finally kill him, but Potter had gotten there first. The golden boy had killed him. The irony of this hit him. Myrtle was still frantically flying around and screaming bloody murder, but he was sure that the subject of her shouting had changed. _She must be calling for help_. He thought that he should be screaming, too, but for some reason, he just lay there, crying because of the pain and coughing up the warm, thick liquid filling his lungs. 

He could feel Harry staring at him in shock. It hit his hazy mind that perhaps this had been an accident, but it did not matter. It did not matter now that he was on the floor dying. He would never accomplish the task Voldemort had given him, and his parents would die. Internally, though, he felt a small comfort in the fact that he would soon die. Soon he would not have to deal with any of this anymore. _At least Potter gets to leave the bathroom unscathed._

Snape suddenly entered the bathroom, and though his vision was now a bit hazy, Draco could see that his godfather looked furious. He felt Snape bend down over him, his lips moving as he muttered something. The pain gradually decreased, and Draco felt his wounds begin to heal. Snape helped him get up and was now saying something to him as he led him away from the bathroom, but what? Still dazed, he hazily thought that Snape was probably telling him that he should go to Madam Pomfrey. Snape seemed to understand that he was not processing anything and started walking him to the Hospital Wing. They were halfway there when Draco realized what was going on and temporarily snapped himself out of his haze. Insisting that Snape did not need to help him anymore, he slowly headed to the Hospital Wing by himself. He did not want to think about how he would have to later explain everything to Snape and then tell Voldemort that he had failed. Yet again. A small, bitter smile graced his face. It would have been better if he had just been left to bleed on the cold marble floor.


End file.
